


I Want To Crawl All Over Her (Alex James x Reader x Damon Albarn)

by Doublebassic_Bitch



Category: Blur, Britpop - Fandom
Genre: Britpop, Drugs, F/M, Love Triangle, Multi, Music, Reader Insert, Reader-Insert, blur - Freeform, reader - Freeform, reader insert love triangle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2018-12-16 13:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11829330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doublebassic_Bitch/pseuds/Doublebassic_Bitch
Summary: The year is 1991. (Y/n) (L/n)'s band The Deafaids (named after a Beatles reference) have just released their first album, to commercial and critical success. Around the same time, the band Blur has released their single "She's So High". The bands are on the same musical circuit. This meeting was inevitable.~Alex James x reader x Damon Albarn~





	1. The Death of the Party

**Author's Note:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> The Death of the Party - Blur  
> She's So High - Blur  
> Dirty Harry - Gorillaz (idk why I was just listening to it while writing)  
> Oh, Darling! - The Beatles

My shoes pressed uncomfortably into the soles of my feet as I entered the party. This was a new life, one of those executive events where we were expected to socialise and schmooze our way into the address books of producers and publicists. I wasn't even sure whose house this was. Probably just a rental by some fat cat. It had the perfect, sterile, stylish air of a house that had never been someone's home - an image that was reinforced by the swathes of people crushed into the space. Most, I knew from experience, would be 'up-and-coming' artists who were completely certain that they were saving music from everything that the 1980s had put it through. Most of them were wrong. They would leave this house with nothing but the blind hope that they came in with. A few months ago, I was one of them. But then things had exploded so quickly and all of a sudden, my position was completely different. I wrote a song. Just one out of many multitudes I had written in my 23 years, and for some reason, this one had turned out different. I recorded it (at great expense) with my band The Deafaids, some higher up had liked it, and our first single landed us at number four in the U.K. charts. Then there was the album, and I started to see my face on magazines, sometimes with the band, but others without. I was the lead singer, the face. Fuck knows why.

I tried to stick close to the rest of the band as we weaved our way through the party, but my efforts were in vain, and they were soon lost into the throbbing room. Sighing, I went to grab a drink. There was a bar against one wall of the main room, thankfully away from the speakers that were blaring skull-penetratingly obnoxious music into the party. I didn't have to wait long to get a drink. Lean over the bar in a low cut top and hope the barman recognises you; a tried and tested tactic. After downing a couple of shots, I shifted my focus away from the social buffer of alcohol and began scanning the room. A couple of faces stuck out to me. A record exec whose face I'd been told to memorise, an ageing woman with a dead career, that one guy who-

"'Scuse me." I felt a tap on my shoulder and glanced over. "You're (y/n)(l/n), right?"

I wasn't able to respond. Maybe it was the alcohol that was beginning to kick in, or, more likely, it was the shock of seeing that face right next to my own. Fuck.

"Um... yeah, yeah, sorry, I am." I mumbled, and the guy grinned broadly, pulling his skin even tighter over his sharp cheekbones.

"I love your band. Always great to see another bass player. Sorry if I'm intruding by the way."

"What? No, of course you're not intruding, what gave you that impression?"

I was so frustrated with myself, floundering like a teenage girl over a guy with floppy hair and cheekbones and a pointed nose and that bloody smile-

"Okay," he smiled, "That's good. I'm Alex, by the way."

He stuck out his hand as much as he could within the cramped space of the bar, and I shook it, laughing at the odd position. It was broad and calloused, a musician's hand.

"So, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" I asked him, turning to flag down the barman again.

"Promoting my band's album. Boring shit."

"You know, I think I actually could have guessed that." I said as I picked up a couple of fresh beers, handing one to him. "you'd have no other reason to be in this shithole."

He smirked.  
"I'll drink to that."

We gently clinked the tips of our bottles and each took a draught of the stuff. He didn't break eye contact; the coloured lighting of the party disappearing in the dark brown of his irises. Something cold hit my hand, a stray river of beer that had trickled down the neck of my bottle. I licked it without thinking, running my tongue over the cool glass.

"I need some fresh air." I glanced up at Alex's sudden statement. He was running one of his hands through his long hair, pushing it way from his face. "Do you smoke?"

"Not that much."

He smiled at that.  
"Fair enough. Do you want to come outside anyway?"

I nodded and we began to work our way across the room towards the wide sliding doors. The garden was far less crowded than the main room, quieter too. We sat cross legged by the pool, drinking our beers.

"So, what's your band like?"

"Fairly shit, great bassist though."

"You're stealing our idea!" I laughed, "Done anything I would have heard?"

"We've only really got one song out there, but it did pretty well. Do you know that one that goes like- " he paused and thought for a minute, "I don't know how to do this, I'm not a fucking singer."

"You've given the build up now, you have to do it!" I prodded him in the side, and he caved.

"It goes like: dyowww doo doo doooo do do do." He hummed awkwardly, fully accompanied by clumsy air guitar.

I was creasing with laughter.  
"Are you sure you're not a singer!" I just about managed to choke out, "because that was bloody awe inspiring!"

"Piss off. I will throw you into that pool." He threatened with an embarrassed smile and I held up my hands in submission. Fishing around in his pocket, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes, offering them to me.

"I'm good. If you're having one though, could I have a couple of drags?"

"Sure". He pulled one from the packet and placed it in his lips, rolling it between them slightly before lighting it. Exhaling, he held it out to me, and I accepted. We sat in comfortable silence, watching our breath curl and combine in the air.

"Alex!"

A ball of energy bounded over and landed next to the bassist, making us both jump.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, mate. We really should be taking advantage of this free drinks thing, because I will never be able to afford alcohol this good ever again. Well, at least until we become rich and famous because our music is fucking amazing."

This guy sounded very much like he had already been taking advantage of the free drinks. I peered around Alex to see him. He had wide, blue eyes, that was the first thing I noticed about him. They were framed in a young face, swimming with excitement and humour.

"(Y/n), this is Damon. Damon,-" Alex began, but he was cut off.

"Holy shit, (y/n)(l/n)." Damon stuck his hand across Alex. "Damon Albarn. Lead singer of Blur, great admirer of your music."

"Sounds like a decent CV." I replied, taking the proffered hand. "I'm going to go and get another drink." I stood and dusted myself off. Alex shot me an apologetic look, which I waved off.

"Alex, do you want anything while I'm there?"

"I'll have what you're having." He shrugged. I smiled and made my way back to the bar. Once there, I drank another few shots before collecting beers for Alex and myself. I was beginning to really feel the drinks as I headed back towards the door.

"(Y/n!)"

A hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to one side.

"Damon?"

"Yeah, sorry about this." He grinned sheepishly, "I was just wondering if I could talk to you about your music for a bit, I'm really interested in knowing your influences and that."

I looked over towards the pool.  
"But, Alex, I-"

Damon was already pulling me along with him in the direction of some back room.  
"He won't mind, you can explain later, come on!"

The lighting was better in this room, and I could see him properly. Damon had dirty ginger hair, and a cute face. He sat on a sofa next to a fish tank and patted the spot next to him, which I took.

He was funny. We drank, and chatted, and laughed. We discovered a record player in the room as well, a relic forgotten in some corner. Damon got very excited about this, and immediately began flinging open cupboards to search for records. Finally, he found one that he approved of, chose a track, and dropped the needle down. The room was filled with the opening chord of a song that I knew so well, even before he threw over the record sleeve for Abbey Road. I jumped up.

"Oh, oh, darling! Please believe me!" I sang along in the confident, projected way that only someone drunk truly can.

"I'll never do you no harm!" Damon joined me, and I raised my eyebrows. His voice was good.

"Believe me when I tell you, ooo!" We both attempted the falsetto note. I collapsed laughing, and he caught my arms to steady me, bringing me up so that I was standing pressed against him. His wide eyes were still open, staring into mine. Right up to the moment that he screwed them shut and kissed me.

His hands were still tangled through my (h/c) hair as he pulled away.

All I could muster was a quiet 'oh'. We stood there for a few seconds, listening to John Lennon, whose voice continued to play in the background. In my drunken stupor, I had a moment of clarity. I pulled away sharply.

"I should get back to the party."

Damon's boyish energy seemed punctured.  
"Or you could stay until the end of the song?" His blue puppy eyes looked foolishly hopeful, and I could feel my resolve waver.

"There are people looking for me... I really need to go."

"I guess same for me." He sighed. He crossed the room to the door, and held it for me, to which I nodded thanks. As I was leaving the room, he reached out to take my hand again. I paused. He took the opportunity to place one last peck on the corner of my mouth. I dashed out into the party, but looking back, I saw that cheeky smirk had returned.


	2. Badhead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> Badhead - Blur  
> Leisure (album) - Blur  
> There's No Other Way - Blur  
> 

I hadn't been able to find Alex once I rejoined the party. Instead, I just linked up with the rest of The Deafaids and drank myself into a stupor, which was also a fun option!

The next day was less fun. I lay in bed past midday before begrudgingly admitting to myself that leaving the house would probably do me some good. Uncaring about my appearance, I took the bus into a more central part of London. In classic fashion, the driver lurched around every bend, screeched at every stop, and made every passenger's day a misery. It was a great relief when I finally got off, exposed to fresh air once more. As I began to wander through the town, I realised that my trip was totally aimless. I window shopped for a while, and bought myself a carton of orange juice, which I drank a little of before deciding that it was doing nothing to help my stomach. I was strolling down a more deserted street when I saw the record shop. It was shabby and overcrowded with shelves so that very few actual customers could fit into the store itself. It was perfect.

The interior was dimly lit, which was just as well considering how sticky the floor felt underfoot. I sifted casually through the crates of music for a while, when a thought hit me. Making my way over to the shelf marked 'B' on a peeling piece of paper, I began to flick through its contents. Beach Boys, Bob Dylan... There it was. Blur, Leisure. It was a weird album cover, but it seemed to fit somehow. I paid quickly and made my way back to the hangover safe-house of my home, where I made a strong cup of tea and settled down to listen to this album.

It was... interesting. There were some great tracks, but it was fairly out there. My listening was interrupted by the ringing of my phone. My pulsing headache turned into a stab. I snatched up the phone as quickly as possible to stop the noise.

"Hello?"

"Wow, you sound rough."

"Thanks, Edie." It was my guitarist. "I would appreciate if you could speak gently. I am extremely fragile."

"I've been calling you all morning! Were you sleeping for that long?"

"Nah. I went out and bought a new record."

"Anyway, I have big news. We're nominated for best newcomer at the BRITs."

My head reeled. Although, I think it was reeling even without the surprise.

"Well, shit."

***

I didn't look like myself. I had decided that. My dress was mainly made out of sheer material, and the makeup that had been put on me by someone else had accentuated parts of my face that I had never known were there. In a way, it helped me to think like that. The photos that would be taken of me this evening would just be of someone else. I didn't have to worry about being attractive all the time. The car pulled to a halt, and I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. Camera flashes and a barrage of noise launched an assault on my senses as I walked at the front of my band down the makeshift corridor of barriers. The presentation hall itself was a welcome respite, but as more and more people flooded in, the heat and humidity became cloying.

We didn't win. I was almost glad we hadn't had to go up on the stage, as by the time it was announced, I was certain that my mask of makeup had melted off my face entirely. At the end of the show, we all slid into the stream of people leaving the hall.

I sighed and leant my head on Edie's shoulder as we waited to leave.  
"Oh well."

"It was an honour just to be nominated- oh no wait, that's two hours of my life gone forever!" Our drummer André looked furious. I think losing had hit him hard.

"Yeah," I agreed with him, "I just want to go home and sleep."

Edie nudged my head off her shoulder as the queue progressed.  
"Tough. We need to go to the after party. We've got clothes changes waiting for us."

I groaned and buried my head back into her neck, leaving a faint smear of makeup. I hoped there would be time to redo that as well.

As it transpires, there was time enough to repaint my face; this time done by myself. My outfit was yet again a little revealing for my liking, a see through shirt that showed a low cut crop top beneath, but at least I was allowed to wear jeans. The rest of the group looked fantastic. We looked like a 70s punk band, just with slightly more teeth. I was also pleasantly surprised by the after party. More people had turned up who weren't at the awards themselves, so the room was packed, and the DJ was taking song requests, so the soundtrack wasn't completely dead.

I was in the middle of the crowded dance floor, off my face on cheap booze, when I heard the song change.

"Holy shit!" I yelled to Edie, "This is Blur!" She nodded in a confused way and turned to talk to André. There's No Other Way was blasting through my head, and I couldn't care less. I looked up to see who had requested the track, and froze. Of course it was them. The band themselves stood by the turntables, clearly drunk themselves, singing along to their own music. I pressed through the crowd until I reached them.

"Hey, guys!"

Alex looked up first. Then he looked down. I remembered my outfit and crossed my arms awkwardly, which did very little to cover anything. He smiled coyly.  
"Well, hello stranger. Haven't seen you since you said you were getting me a drink."

I grinned nervously.  
"Yeah, about that..."

"I'm kidding, love." He laughed, putting an arm over my shoulders and drawing me into the circle, "Look, lads, (Y/n)'s here!" They cheered drunkenly. I looked up, catching Damon's eye. At least, I would have done, if he had been looking at my eyes. Alex seemed to notice this as well. He reached out, clicking his fingers in front of the singer's face.

"Where are you looking, mate?"

Damon looked up at Alex with a sincere expression, still clouded with alcohol, and cleared his throat.  
"As a matter of fact, dear friend, I was looking directly at (y/n)'s tits." The group collapsed into laughter, including myself. I was too drunk to care.

"I mean, let's be honest, who isn't?" Said the smaller guy in glasses, inciting more hysterics. "No disrespect to you, but that top isn't exactly hiding much."

"Graham speaks the truth!" Damon exclaimed, holding up his glass in a crude toast. We all joined in the toast, but I could feel a grip tighten on my shoulder. I realised that Alex still had his arm around me. I pressed in closer to him, standing on my tiptoes. He leant down to hear what I was saying.

"Let's go dance." He nodded in approval and followed me down into the throng on the dance floor. We were crushed into each other by the crowd; our body heats mixing under the strobe lighting. I have no idea how long we stayed that way, but eventually we spilled out to the side of the room to get more drinks. Alex didn't say anything, just looked at me as I gathered a tray of drinks to bring back to the others. We were stopped briefly on the way over by André and Edie, who were leaving.

"I'm going to stay with the guys for a bit!" I yelled to them over the music, and they flashed me a thumbs up. Alex and I continued stumbling over to where the others were, and presented them with our offering of shots, which was met by more cheers.

They tried as best they could, but Dave and Graham had to call it in early, which left me, Alex, and Damon to finish off the shots. We were extremely fucking drunk.

"I have a great idea." It was Damon.

"What?"

"Let's go get a kebab."

"That's a fucking brilliant idea."

The three of us stumbled out of the party, leaning on each other for support. I was in the middle, practically being dragged along by the other two. I briefly wondered what the paparazzi shots would be like in the morning, but shoved it down to the back of my mind. Right now I just really wanted a kebab. We found somewhere that was open and ate together, joking and laughing the entire time.

"Wait, wait, wait." The guys looked at me.

"What?"

"What time is it?"

Alex glanced at the clock on the wall.  
"Like 1am."

"Fuck." I bashed my head into the table. "I missed my tube. I'll have to get a cab."

"No way." Alex said, shaking his head emphatically, "Way too expensive and way too dangerous."

Damon nodded in agreement.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" I moaned.

There was a moment of silence as they thought. Alex was the one to break it.

"I only live like a bus ride away. Come stay over."

"Hang on, mate, let's not-" Damon began to protest, but I cut him off.

"Can you think of anything better, Damon? That sounds great. Thanks."

We left Damon and boarded the bus together, sitting right at the back of the top deck. As the bus pulled away from the stop, I got dizzy, and Alex put his arm around me, pulling me into him. I was grateful for the support, snuggling into his chest.

"You know what would be great to do at my place?"

I looked up at him.  
"What?"

"I have rather a large bag of marijuana."

"That does sound great."

"Indeed."


	3. London Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is a smug, Tory prick. He's hot though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> London Loves - Blur  
> 1983, A Merman I Should Turn To Be - The Jimi Hendrix Experience

The room was filled with smoke and music. I lounged against the headboard of Alex's bed, watching as he rolled yet another joint next to me. His long fingers worked quickly; gracefully, as he raised the paper to his lips and ran his tongue along the adhesive seam.

"You know what this is like?"

He looked up at me through heavy, hooded eyes.  
"What?"

"A fucking sleepover." I said, taking the joint and lighting it, "Like being kids but with more drugs." He collapsed into a fit of giggles, which made me do the same, burying my face in his arm.

"Shhhhh! You'll wake my parents up!" He teased, poking me gently in the side.

"I can't get that image out of my head!" There were tears in my eyes, "My friends and I would always play truth or dare, but I was the only one who'd done any out there shit."

"Yeah? Like what?"

I locked eyes with him and shook my head.  
"No. Some of that can never see the light of day again."

He pouted, and snatched the joint back, taking a long drag. Then, a wicked grin formed on his face.  
"Okay then," he smirked, exhaling, "truth or dare?"

I burst into stoned laughter again.  
"You can't be serious."

He raised his eyebrows.  
"Really? Truth or dare?"

"Fucking dare then. There's no way I'm telling you that shit." I shook my head, and reached for the joint.

"Not until you've done your dare." He held it away, teasing. "Shirt off."

"What the fuck?" I raised my eyebrows. He'd caught me off guard with that one.

Alex dangled the joint in front of me like bait.  
"Come on, it's see through anyway."

I did as asked, aware of his eyes, trained and unmoving.  
"Your turn." I grabbed away the cigarette.

"Truth."

I smiled innocently, taking my time thinking and smoking away his weed.  
"Would you fuck Damon?"

"I'm not gay!" He laughed, but then thought for a second. "Depends on the context I guess."

"How's this for a scenario." I said, putting down the joint into the ash tray beside the bed. I was drunk and high and couldn't give less of a crap about what I was saying. "You're both incredibly drunk after a party, and go back to yours to get high. He's right next to you in revealing clothes, and you're playing truth or dare."

"That's an oddly specific scenario." He smirked, voice reducing to a murmur, "are you sure we're still talking about Damon?"

I didn't have a chance to respond. He kissed me hard, mouth open, hands tangling in hair. Our tongues mixed, teeth colliding, but we couldn't have cared less. One of his large hands grabbed my thigh, pulling my leg across his lap. I shifted my weight so that I was now straddling him; still leant against the headboard. His hands moved from my thighs, running up my sides and settling on my breasts, never breaking the kiss. Eventually, I broke away for air, and he took the opportunity to quickly pull my crop top over my head, leaving me in just my bra.

"Holy shit." I heard him mutter before returning to the kiss. I could feel his hips shifting slightly beneath me, his breath growing short. Running my hands up his torso, I pulled his shirt upwards, and he obliged me by raising his arms and allowing me to remove it. When his hands came back to me, they were again on my thighs, groping. As I wrapped my arms around his neck, he lifted me, pressing his hips into mine for leverage, making me squeak into his mouth out of surprise. He laid me down on my back so that I was underneath him, and began to kiss my neck and collarbone, reaching down to unbutton my jeans. He pulled them away with my underwear and brought his head down between my legs, looking up for permission. His deep brown eyes were clouded over with drugs and lust, and I knew mine were the same. I nodded.

Christ, he was good. He knew it too, judging by his laugh as I hooked my fingers into his long hair. I couldn't wait any longer. I pulled his head up, causing him to look at me quizzically.

"Alex, just fuck me already."

"Happy to oblige." He was still smirking as he pulled off his jeans, fishing a condom out of the pocket before discarding them. He'd had one with him. That arrogant prick.

"I hoped." He said, seeing my expression. Unwrapping the packet and sliding it over his erection, he positioned himself. He kissed me again as he pushed himself into me, groaning into my mouth. After giving me a moment to adjust, Alex gripped my hips and began to move, steadily increasing the pace. His face was buried in the side of my neck, muffling his increasingly frequent moans. I was already sensitive from his previous actions, and my walls tightened around him as I came. This pushed him over the edge, causing him to come as well as I rode out my high.

After quickly disposing of the condom, he collapsed beside me, unspeaking, but his arms wrapped around me. He pulled me into him, peppering my face with kisses until I fell into a deep, drug-fuelled sleep.


	4. Coffee and TV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> 'Morning Glory' - Oasis  
> 'Coffee and TV' - Blur  
> 'The Less I Know The Better' - Tame Impala

Light stung my eyes as I blinked awake. My head pounded; I knew I had overdone it the night before. Last night... Memories presented themselves to me and I shot up, looking wildly around at my surroundings.

"You alright, love?"

My head snapped around. Alex was already awake, smoking, and watching me with a bemused expression. I couldn't speak, gathering the sheets around me in an attempt to cover myself.  
"Could you at least lie back down, you're pulling the covers off."

I glanced downwards. Although the bedsheet concealed his lower half, my sitting up had revealed his hip and defined v-lines, showing that he was still naked. He seemed un-phased by this.  
"Well?" He pressed, eyebrows raised.

"Sorry, I should-" My eyes shot around the room, searching for my shirt. "Do you have anything I could borrow, just for today, I'll wash it, sorry, it's just..."

He laughed at my floundering, raising himself up onto his elbows and stubbing out his cigarette.  
"Second drawer down. Could you chuck us some boxers while you're over there?"

I swung my leg out of the bed before noticing that it was bare, and hurriedly withdrawing it.  
"It's nothing I haven't seen before." I looked over at Alex's comment, still clearly unwilling to cross the room and expose myself in the cold light of day. He shrugged.  
"Suit yourself."

I lay back and pulled the sheet over myself. Alex made a small noise of approval at the returned covers. Settling down into his previous position, he flung one long arm over my waist, and seemed amused at my jumpy reaction.  
"Calm down. You're warm."  
I smiled awkwardly and tried to relax, but my mind was racing. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about this. It was unlike me to sleep with someone I barely knew, whereas Alex seemed to be taking it entirely in his stride. It made me wonder if he did this often. I looked over at his face next to mine. His eyes were closed, and a slight smile danced on his lips as he drew me in closer to him, finding a more comfortable position.

We stayed like that for quite a while, dozing and drifting in and out of hungover sleep. Eventually, Alex rolled over and stretched. He sat up and briefly glanced at the clock, shaking his head and ridding his eyes of rheum.

"The lads are coming over today." He said, casually standing and making his way over to the dresser. "Feel free to stick around." He fished around in the drawers, retrieving a t-shirt, which he threw over to me, and boxers, which he pulled on himself.

"Thanks. What time are they arriving?" I asked him, putting on the shirt. I was grateful for the cover.

"Couple of hours. Time for a shower if you want it."

I did. Standing under the water gave me a strange sense of clarity as I washed away any traces of last night's activities. What had happened didn't have to mean anything. No feelings caught; no strings attached. When I stepped out of the shower, I was going to take this in my stride, I decided. I was filled with resolve and determination as I dried off and dressed myself. I was still wearing my jeans from last night, and Alex's shirt was far too big for me, but it was my armour as I stepped out into the kitchen -

"I made us breakfast. Do you want tea or coffee?"

Well, fuck.

Breakfast was delicious. Of course it was. We sat and watched daytime TV, and learned more about each other. Alex was a foodie who loved astronomy. He liked the same music as I did and played a Fender precision bass, which sparked the debate over the superiority of jazz or precision models. I realised I had been completely drawn into the conversation when the doorbell rang. Alex got up to answer it whilst I waited on the sofa.

"Alright, mate. Is (y/n) still here?" I recognised the loud voice of Damon and bit my lip. Away from the distraction of conversation, I realised I was actually concerned about what he would make of the situation. I found myself hoping desperately that Alex wouldn't say anything. As the group entered the room, it didn't seem as though he had. Damon smiled widely when he saw me.  
"How's your head, love?" He asked, flopping down beside me and resting his arm across the back.

"Haven't had any complaints." I shot back, and heard Alex laugh. I could see Damon glancing between the two of us as the others sat down. He seemed nervous; jittery, and I worried that he might suspect something. I had to change the subject.

"You know, I think this is the first time that I've met any of you guys whilst sober."

Graham laughed.  
"Don't worry about it. I think this is the first time we've met each other sober, let alone you."

Awkward tension dispelled, the group launched into conversation. They were nice guys, but I took a backseat in the discussion. It was difficult to focus when Alex kept looking at me like that.

"I think I should go, I haven't been home since yesterday morning."

The guys turned to look at me.  
"You sure?" Damon asked, playing with a strand of my hair, and I nodded. He pouted, and I stuck my tongue out at him. That made him smile in spite of himself.

"Just remember to give back my shirt." Alex cut in, but he was looking at Damon as he said it, "Actually, I think you left yours in my room. Let me get it for you."

There was a horrible silence in the room as he left. Graham and Dave exchanged a glance.

"Right, I know that sounds bad, but I promise it's not." I scrambled, just as Alex walked back in with my shirt and crop top. I glared at him pointedly. Damon put his arm around me, resuming his fiddling with my hair.

"I believe you."

"Thank you." I breathed, relieved. Standing, I gave a brief nod goodbye to the room and walked out into the corridor. Alex followed me.

"Here's your shirt." I took it and turned to leave, but he put his weight on the door, barring it.  
"Sorry. I know that was out of line. Could I at least get your phone number."

I hesitated.

"Please."

His deep eyes were wide and apologetic. I caved.

"Fine." I sighed, and he grinned, handing me a scrap of paper.  
"Pen?"  
He disappeared briefly before returning with a biro. I scribbled my number on the paper and gave it back to him.

"See you." He said, and leant in to peck me on the cheek before I walked out, clutching my clothes, and wondering what in the hell I was going to do.


	5. On The Way To The Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> \- Call Me, Blondie  
> \- On The Way To The Club, Blur  
> \- Come Together, Blur

Alex didn't call for a while. While I can't say I was surprised, I was mildly disappointed. With every day that passed, I grew a little more ashamed with myself. I never did this; never went home with someone I barely knew - someone who didn't even have the guts or the will to contact me. This feeling wasn't helped by the media circus. The first day had been the worst. They had been waiting for me when I arrived home, full of questions about where I had stayed, sticking the pictures of Damon, Alex, and myself in my face.

"Three's company! (L/n) leaves Brits party with two Blur boys!" The caption was obnoxious and unoriginal. I guess I should have been grateful that it didn't make the front page, just the back of a few gossip sections. None of us were well known enough to dethrone the incredible story of a soap star's latest surgical procedure on the cover. The call finally came while I was eating lunch with Edie at my place, several days of radio silence after I had given Alex my number. It being an unknown caller, I had at first dismissed it, but three calls later I conceded and answered, nodding an apology to Edie.

"Hello?"

"Hi! (Y/n)?" Alex, sounding sheepish, "I've been trying to get hold of you -"

"For all of two minutes." I wasn't about to take this.

"Yeah... Sorry I didn't call earlier. It's been so hectic with, well, everything. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you."

I glanced up at Edie. She raised her eyebrows inquisitively, and I mouthed 'Alex'.

"Well, funny you should mention that, because I'm a bit busy to talk right now. Bye."

"Wait, (Y/n)!"

"Alex, I'm with a friend. Talk later."  
I hung up on him.

Edie was laughing.  
"That was cold!"

"Well if he didn't want to talk before, he shouldn't have to now."

The phone rang again. Edie drained her tea and stood, sliding her jacket off the back of her chair.

"Sounds like he may have had a change of heart. I need to get going anyway."

I sighed.  
"Yeah, I'll see you out."

"Leave him hanging that bit longer, huh?" She smirked, and I returned it in confirmation. "I'm proud of you."

Once she had left, I sauntered over to the phone. He took his sweet time; I can take mine.

"Yes?"

"Is your friend still there?"

"No, Alex, she left. Your interruption didn't exactly help."

There was a groan from the other end of the line.

"Look, (Y/n), I know you're pissed off, but I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can do."

"Maybe you should have at least tried to get in contact with me?" I suggested sharply; he tried to interject but I motored on, laughing dryly, "You know, I don't normally do stuff like that - especially not with someone I barely know - and coupled with the way you acted in front of the others, there's no reason I should want you to do anything else. You've done quite enough."

Silence. Alex seemed to be gathering his thoughts. I wondered if perhaps I had gone a little overboard.

"Look, I know I fucked up." There was another pause. "I want to get to know you."

I didn't respond, and he seemed to take this as a cue to continue.

"We're playing a gig on Friday at The Camden Falcon. It's tiny but I can make sure you get in."

When I again refused to answer, he merely sighed.

"I'll put you on the list. If you want to meet before then, call me."

I'd didn't call him. At band practise the next day, Edie and André were my council, but advice is frustrating when it doesn't back up what you think.

"I think you should go."

"Yeah, I don't see why not."

Sometimes what you need isn't someone's genuine opinion. I wish they'd just nodded along with me, reassured me that he'd gone beyond redemption, and then helped me write an angry song.

"I mean, it's not like it'll be just you two. You get on with the band as well, right?"

I thought about our last awkward encounter, which had probably not done anything to bring me closer to Graham and Dave, and about Damon. There had been an odd, conflicting vibe with him every time we met. On one hand, his laid back, cheeky attitude relaxed me as much as anything, but on the other, he constantly had this buzz of nervous energy just below the surface, which made it feel as though there was something going on behind what he was saying to you. There was also the drunken kiss from our initial meeting. I felt that neither of us had quite forgotten that; I wasn't sure whether he wanted to repeat it or not. If he did, that made for a very tricky situation with him, myself, and Alex. If this came to a head, I may end up responsible for the severance of a great band before they made it to the mainstream.

"Yeah, we get on great."

André threw his hands up.  
"Then it's an non-issue." He saw my exasperated expression, and softened a little, "You could try and get us on the list too if that'll help."

"Lend me their album first." Edie cut in, "Now can we please get back to this. We do have a band of our own."

After practise I called Alex. He picked up after a couple of rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Alex. It's Kathryn."

"Hi! Yes! What's going on?"

"I was just wondering if you could add my band mates to the list for the Falcon."

"Oh, right. Sure." He sounded a little disappointed.

"Thanks. See you then."

"Hang on." He cut in, "Are you sure you don't want to meet up? Like, without your friends there. Or mine. We could hang out; just us..."

I felt myself waver a little, but I knew it was a bad idea.

"I would, Alex, but it's just so hectic with the new album dropping soon." A white lie.

I heard him exhale deeply and mutter something under his breath.

"Fine. I won't drag you out."

"Thanks. See you Friday."

There was a moment of hesitation on his part before he responded.  
"I'm glad you decided to come."

"So am I. Bye."

I hung up the phone and replaced the receiver into its socket. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous for the gig. For the days preceding it, I was plagued by massive fluctuations in my eating habits, buying new clothes, and obsessively listening to Leisure until, by the time we rolled up to the Camden Bar, I knew every strain inside and out.

The band weren't fraternising with the audience, so we got drinks and stayed to the side of the steadily growing crowd. It grew nearer to the scheduled kick off time. I gave a brief nod to the others, and we shoved through to the centre of the audience. There were slight murmurings as a few people recognised us, but we chose to ignore them. The band came on stage. Then Damon ran on, and the music burst out like a flashbang.

We were crushed in noise and sweat and bodies and let I myself get lost. Blur were leaping around; throwing beer over themselves and the crowd - it was relentless. Then, towards the end of their set, Damon returned the mic to its stand.

"Alright," he said, breathless, roughly shoving his sodden hair back from his forehead, "thanks for coming out tonight. I'm sure many of you will have noticed, we've got some friends here tonight, and they're way more famous than us, so we're going to try and piggyback on that."

He beckoned to us.

"Come on up, guys."

I glanced at the others. André shrugged. The crowd began to shift and distort, moving us towards the stage. As we grew closer, Damon suddenly yelled:

"ONE TWO THREE FOUR!"

And we were jostled onto the stage to the sound of Come Together. We went along with it, dancing around the stage and screaming the lyrics. The crowd loved it. They were reaching out, trying to grab my outstretched arms, when another hand slotted into mine, and yanked me back.

"You should know I'd do anything for you!"

I was met by Damon's grinning face as he pulled me in to share his microphone for the chorus. I sloppily blasted out Graham's harmony, more laughing than actually singing. Damon's arm was looped around my waist so that I'd be in close enough for the mic. We stayed like that when the instrumental came, just jumping around like idiots. Edie was with Graham, André was down with the crowd - I looked to find Alex. He was playing as normal, head down and bobbing in time, fringe obscuring everything but his pout. The song came to an ultimate, crashing conclusion.

"Ladies and gentlemen! We were Blur, they were The Deafaids, our albums are at the back! Thank you!"

Damon slung the mic over its stand and drew me in for a hug. Over his shoulder, I saw Alex look up for the first time, and our eyes met. There was a sort of burning spark in my skull. I dragged my eyes away. Guilt, anger, something else entirely? Either way, there was tension there that I would be forced to face as Damon pulled me backstage.


	6. Lonesome Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> \- Lonesome Street, Blur  
> \- Only Ones Who Know, Arctic Monkeys  
> \- Best Days, Blur

**_~A.N.~ A couple of times in this chapter I think I use 'us' instead of 'I'. 'I' just doesn't sound as good to me. I think it's an English thing, so I'm clarifying._ **

  
"So, what did you think?"

We were sat in the dressing room backstage. It was far too small for the seven of us, and the dense atmosphere in the room was crushing. It was more of a broom cupboard with a desk in it, on which I was perched next to Damon. He was propping himself up on his arm; extended behind my back.

"Yeah, it was great."

I glanced back at his hand. If there was more space, I would have said it was a possessive gesture. But, given the circumstances, it didn't much hold my attention.

"You're better live, in my opinion." Edie piped up, seeming desperate to fill the void of conversation. "There's something about the album production that's not quite the same."

Graham cocked his head at her.

"And what would that be?"

"The bass is too quiet." I had mumbled it absentmindedly, and sharply looked up to gauge the reaction of the room.

"Yeah?" Alex was subtly smirking at me in that typical, cocky way of his, "That's my exact opinion."

This was the first time that he had looked up so far. When we had entered the room, he had immediately gravitated towards a small chair in the corner, and sat, unspeaking, fringe covering his face. I was relieved he had rejoined us. It didn't stop me wanting to punch the smugness off his mug.

"Same, the producers mixed it wrong." Damon spoke quickly, as though he may miss his opportunity.

Alex laughed dryly; bemusedly.  
"Sure, Damon. I've been trying to say it for ages, but as soon as (Y/n) pipes up-"

"She knows what she's on about." He smiled at me, and reached up to ruffle my hair.

"Besides, I don't think you'd be happy until it was entirely bass, Jaco Pastorius style." Dave chipped in, and Alex grasped at his chest in mock indignation and heartbreak. His shirt was pulled tight around his torso by this, clinging to patches of sweat. Damon's hand slipped from my hair so that his arm was slung around my shoulders, breaking my stupor. I looked up from Alex's chest, and our eyes met. I wasn't sure if he had noticed me blatantly checking him out, but the smirk returned as he raised a quizzical eyebrow. He knew.

"Anyway, are going out the front for drinks?" André asked no-one in particular, and we all looked around before nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, I just need to make a detour first." Edie nodded towards the toilet sign. I stood up and stretched, shrugging off Damon's arm.

"I'll come with you. You guys get started, we were already drinking before the gig."

We walked together down the dingy tiled corridor, shoes clacking on the cracked floors. It smelled - surprise, surprise - like a bar toilet. Booze, sweat, and piss. I didn't want to know why the floors were sticky. Edie shoved open the heavy wooden door to the ladies, and we checked that no one else was in there before going into neighbouring cubicles.

"So, what's going on?" Edie asked through the thin partition.

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you and Alex might be like, a thing? I don't know, after what happened, it just seemed likely."

I tore off some toilet paper, waiting until the rattle of the dispenser to subside. It gave me a little time to form a response as well.

"I'm not sure, to be perfectly honest. I don't think he's that into me?" I stood, flushed, and left the small booth. Edie did the same and we reconvened at the sinks.

"What on earth makes you think that?"

"Well, I mean..." I rinsed my hands slowly, ordering my thoughts, "He seems like it didn't mean that much to him, or like it's an everyday occurrence? He was kind of nonchalant at first. There's also the whole not calling for days thing..."

Edie was grinning broadly, and as I finished she burst into laughter.  
"Mate, no! He clearly fancies you so much."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" She tore off a couple of paper towels, handing one to me, "I would say he looks at you like the sun shines out of your arse, but he looks at your arse too damn much for that."

I told her to shut up, laughing, and lobbed my now crumpled towel at her. Nonetheless, she pressed on regardless - only pausing to chastise me for my littering habits - and by the time she was done, I had to admit that I was pretty much convinced. Alex had probably just been trying to play it cool. Even as I accepted that as the truth, I felt something underlying in the pit of my stomach. There was the fear of him not actually liking me, of course, but there was something else that I knew I recognised all too well. Gnawing away at me. As we re-entered the main room of the venue, it intensified. I recognised it now. I was terrified of Damon seeing me and Alex together.

"Alright?" An arm wrapped around my waist, and a drink proffered, "This is for you."

I took the glass slowly from Alex.  
"What is it?"

"Vodka lemon with a twist. It's what you were drinking last time."

I smiled awkwardly before taking a sip and looking over to the bar. It seemed that Damon wasn't there. I relaxed slightly, but there was still a cacophony of thought in my head. I was attracted to Alex, of course I was, so why was I so desperate to distance myself from whatever was between us? I had felt so comfortable in his presence before. Something had changed.

"So, I have to admit, I was a little anxious that you had ditched me for good."

I looked up at Alex. He was smiling, but there was genuine questioning in his expression. I half laughed and took a deep, panicked draught of my drink; face contorting.

"Oh, wow, that is strong. No, no ditching, just..." As I struggled to think of an excuse, Alex appeared to take my lapse into silence as me struggling to cope with the spirits. He drew me into his chest for a hug, teasing me.

"Such big talk and you can't handle a bit of vodka."

"Piss off." I half-heartedly tried to shove him away, but he just sighed and rested his chin on my head.

"I would, but you're just the perfect height for this."

I felt him move away slightly and lean down, and suddenly realised that he was trying to kiss me. A jolt of shock ran through me; I pressed my head into his chest to stop him, though not quite knowing why. He sighed and returned his chin to my head. I gave it another second before protesting again.

"Come on, Alex. I need another drink."

He leant away, but looked confused.

"You still have, like, half of that one - oh." He broke off as I downed the rest of it. I tapped the empty glass, smiled, and nodded to the bar before making my way over there. Sliding into a random stool, I waved at the bartender and tapped my glass.

"Can I get another vodka lemon, please. Emphasis on the vodka."

Alex sat next to me.

"(Y/n), are you alright? You might want to take it easy."

I didn't look over.  
"Yeah, I'm great." My second drink was placed in front of me, and I disposed of it just as quickly as the first. I raised my hand to get another, but Alex pulled it down and held it to the bar top.

"What is going on?"

"Nothing."

I instantly went on the defensive, but didn't pull my hand away. He relinquished a little pressure; letting his fingers curl slightly around the side of my hand.

"It's clearly not. Look, if this is about what happened last time-"

"I said it's nothing, Alex!" I broke the contact between our hands, and motioning to bartender. "We're all getting drunk, aren't we? Well here I am, getting drunk. Normal."

He sighed and ran his hands through his long, greasy hair.

"It's not fun to watch you do this."

I sat in silence for a moment, nursing my new drink in my hands. The guilty liquid stared back at me, urging me to just tell him the truth. When I looked up at Alex to do so, he was looking right at me. The light hitting his eyes turned them almost orange, and flickers were cast off the concern that was brimming within them.

"It's not to do with last time."

I couldn't do it. His face lit up as mine fell at my lie, and he leant in to kiss me on the cheek. A shiver leapt down my spine as I felt his breath over my skin.

"I'm glad."

The smile was audible in his voice. I stood quickly.

"I'm just going to get some air."

Alex stood with me, seemingly unfolding until he was towering above me.

"Alright if I join you? I need a smoke."

"Sure." I pulled my face into a smile and downed my third drink before making a move towards the heavy doors at the front of the room. Leaning against them in order to heft them open, I stepped out into the street. The fresh, dark air was a great relief from the dank interior of the bar. I moved forward and stood beneath the amber glow of a streetlight, simply watching my breath crystallise as the light caught it. I heard the door swing a second time as Alex also came outside; the spark and flare of a lighter as he lit his cigarette.

"Alright, mate?" He asked someone, but I could tell it wasn't directed at me.

"Alright."

"Bloody freezing, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

I turned when I heard the second voice. Damon was leant against the wall of the venue, also smoking. Alex was focused entirely on his cigarette, holding it in the feeble lighter flame in an attempt to stop it sideburning. Damon's eyes, however, were trained on me.

"You want a fag, (y/n)?" Alex seemed to be elsewhere, not even looking up as he spoke.

"No, thanks." I was looking back at Damon as I spoke. It didn't seem awkward, but there was some sort of tension there.

"Well, if you want to come back in, that's where I'm going. It's way too cold out here."

"Yeah." My response was absent. "Give us a minute."

He finished what little was left of his cigarette and dropped the filter-tip on the pavement. The door swung shut behind him.

Damon held out his own cigarette, eyebrow raised to indicate that he was offering it. I shook my head but made my way over to join him on the wall anyway. We stood in comfortable silence as he smoked. He finished off the last bit of tobacco, exhaled, stubbed out the smouldering remains on the wall, moved over, and kissed me. It was very different to the first time. It felt casual, almost conversational, as though this were just the natural continuation of what was happening. He tasted like an ashtray, and I recoiled slightly at the acridity. At my slight rejection, the casual atmosphere shattered. Damon slammed his fist into the wall, running the other over his scalp. Now that his facade had dissipated, I could tell that he was extremely drunk.

"I fucking knew it."

"Knew what, Damon?" I heard my voice tremble. He was intimidating.

"You slept with him, didn't you? That's why you don't want me."

"I don't know who-"

"It's why no-one ever wants me!" He was laughing manically, void of humour, "And don't you try and play dumb, not when I had to sit next to you for an hour in his fucking flat, with you wearing his fucking clothes!"

Tears were pricking in my eyes, and I wiped them away, turning to go back indoors.

"Yeah, fine, walk away from us!" His words were slurred. "You know, I've wanted you since before I even bloody knew you! How stupid is that? I fell in love with your voice on a recording, but that's not you, is it? You don't have any of those feelings you write about, do you?"

His drunken taunts stung like the tears that were now freely rolling down my face. They cut through the sadness and remorse that was welling up in my chest giving way to blind rage. I swung around on my heel to face him.

"Okay, I slept with him! We were both so drunk, and barely knew each other, and yes - I regret it, and no - I don't normally make a habit out of sleeping with men I hardly know, but even if I do sometimes that doesn't make me a bad person, so you can basically just fuck off!"

He didn't respond. His face was a wide eyed mix of emotions: the horror of having his suspicions confirmed; the shock of my sudden retort; perhaps a tinge of remorse at his words. Whichever was dominant, I didn't care. I was on a roll and the alcohol coursing through my veins egged me on.

"And, as a matter of fact, I did want you! I wanted you right up to the point where you tasted like a chainsmoker's ashtray and started yelling abuse at me, which, believe it or not, did very little to help your case.

Anyway, what was I supposed to do? If I had let you carry on, I'm the slag who's gone with half the band, but if I turn you down, apparently I'm still a slag, just one who doesn't have any feelings. So which is it, Damon? I'll let you choose."

He let out an exasperated groan, pulling at his hair. I stood, awaiting his answer. To my surprise, it was quiet and reproachful.

"I've really gone and fucked this one up, haven't I?"

"You think?"

He slumped to the ground, sitting with his back to the wall and burying his head in his hands.

"I don't know what I can do to fix this."

I looked down at the actual Damon, small and insecure. I sighed and sat next to him.

"I don't know if you can. I don't know what I can do either."

And that was how we stayed, alone together on the street, unspeaking, untouching, until the bars closed up.


	7. For Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> \- 'For Tomorrow', Blur  
> \- 'Watching Him Fade Away', Mac DeMarco  
> \- 'Sing', Blur

"What happened to that band you liked for a bit? You haven't seen them for ages."

I looked over at André, who was lounging on my sofa, messing around with his acoustic. He wasn't really paying attention to the conversation; listening to his instrument rather than me. I took advantage of this and changed the subject.

"Mate, you know you can't tune that by ear."

"And I never will be able to if I don't practise it!" He glowered at me, and it seemed as though I had won. "Anyway, what are they up to?"

Back up off the ropes. I conceded, submitting resignedly to his incessant curiosity.

"There was a little bit of drama. Two of them liked me, and I thought it best to distance myself."

He frowned. A tuning key danced absently between his thumb and forefinger, as it always did when he was in thought.

"Surely that's all the more reason not to?"

I shook my head and let my hair fall in front of my eyes so that I didn't have to look at him. I didn't need this argument right now, especially not knowing André's temperament.

"It doesn't matter. Besides, last I heard they were off to America. World tour and all that shite."

It wasn't a very solid excuse. I had spoken to Alex on the phone a couple of times before they left, and from what he'd told me, they'd likely be back by now. My eyes drifted over to the wall mounted receiver; then to the scrap of paper pinned up beside it. Eleven digits. That was all it would take to reach out, ask him how it was going after months of no contact. That receiver, that paper, they were my only links to Alex - and therefore to Damon. I had been so afraid to pick up the phone for the longest time, and yet at every call, my breath still caught a little, all because it might be him. I hated the way I had left it with Damon; hated the fact that I had told him there was no way he could make up for his words. I wanted to tell him so badly that I was sorry, that everything I said was bollocks. Maybe if I did, we could at least be mates again. I shook my head, laughing internally at my own naïveté. Damon and I were never mates. He had never wanted to be my friend.

"(Y/n)." André was sliding his guitar back into its case, "Just call him. Or the other him. I'll see you later."

He smiled at me, and nodded towards the phone.

"Go on."

I returned his smile, but nervously.

"See you Monday?"

"Yeah. Don't chicken out once I've left!" He called back around the door, before pulling it shut behind him. The click of the latch resounded as I stood in silence before the phone. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and dialled the number. It took Alex four or five rings to pick up, and when he did, he sounded less than thrilled to have done so.

"Yeah?"

"Uh, Alex?"

I heard a brief scuffle and a muffled "holy shit" on the other end of the line before Alex replied.

"Is that... (Y/n)?"

"Yeah, hi!" My voice sounded nervous and charged with energy.

"Well, shit. How've you been?" His voice had an air of nonchalance about it, but underneath it I could hear his grin. I was relaxed a little by this.

"Yeah, I'm alright. I was just wondering how your tour went?"

He didn't say anything.

"Alex?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. It's just-" he sighed, and I could imagine him running his hand through his hair, as he always did when stressed. "Not that great, actually."

"How come?"

"Our manager stitched us up, if I'm being completely honest. Left us in debt."

"Oh, god. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I've got some savings and that. I think it's hit Damon the hardest."

I twisted the phone cord around my fingers, chewing on my lip until the skin tore.

"Does he have a number at the moment? I'd like to check up on him."

"Um, well..." Alex sounded a little taken aback. "Yeah. You got a pen or something?"

Scrabbling around, I located a half-dead biro lurking under my radiator. Alex read out the number, careful to annunciate every syllable so that I missed nothing.

"Thanks, I'll call him now."

"Wait one sec!"

Nerves tingled around my fingers as I held more tightly onto the receiver.

"Look, (Y/n), I was really sad that we... lost touch, I guess."

"Me too." My reply was barely above a whisper.

"Do you want to grab a drink or something - whatever - I don't mind, I'd just like to meet up. If you want to. I'm basically free whenever, so time isn't an issue." He paused, "No pressure."

I laughed. Partially at his waffling, but mainly out of relief. There was still some hope for getting back in touch with these people.

"Yeah, sure. I'm really passive on decisions though, so you may have to make the call there."

"Oh, no!" Under his mock dismay, the relief was audible in his voice as well. "It might just have to be a surprise then."

I loosed my vice like grip on the phone, which I now realised I had been grasping like a crutch.

"That actually sounds like quite good fun. How about Thursday?"

He was laughing as well now. It had been a while since I'd heard his embarrassed giggle; warm and self conscious.

"Thursday it is then."

"See you."

"Bye."

Neither of us hung up. Realising this, we collapsed back into peals of laughter.

"Goodbye, for a second time!" I challenged him, and he just made a small choking noise in agreement, before clearing his throat.

"God, that was embarrassing. Yeah, Thursday. Bye."

I slammed the receiver down and leant against it, smiling to no one but myself. I rested there for a moment, secure in the knowledge that I hadn't burned my bridge with Alex, then picked back up the phone to call Damon. This was a riskier operation.

I was little taken aback when the call was answered.

"Alright?"

The voice was definitely not Damon. It was slightly higher, raspier, but still bright and friendly.

"Sorry, I think I have the wrong number. I'm looking for Damon Albarn?"

"Ah, right! Nah, he's here. Give us a sec." There was a clatter as the phone was unceremoniously dropped, and I heard a yell of:

"Oy! Dam-o! Phone!"

A second later, there came the muffled response:

"Who is it?!"

"It's-" the voice returned to the line, "sorry, who are you?"

"(Y/n) (L/n)."

"Oh, you're the musician aren't you! I really like your band, Dam-o plays them all the time." He broke off to yell back to Damon, "It's (Y/n) (L/n)!"

"What?" I could hear footsteps, then his voice again, closer, and just spoken. "Are you serious?"

There was another scuffle and sounds of plastic being knocked as the phone changed hands.

"(Y/n)?"

"Hi, Damon."

His voice was quiet and stunned.

"How come you're calling? How did you get this number?"

"Alex gave it to me."

"Oh."

I remembered our previous altercation, and decided it would be for the best to steer the conversation away from Alex.

"He told me about the tour, I wanted to check that you were okay?"

"Yeah, I'm grand."

"Really?"

He exhaled.

"Not really. I'm staying with my mate Jaime at the moment, but he's about as broke as I am."

I leant against the wall. It was difficult to respond to something like that. Perhaps Damon sensed this, as he went on, giving me more to work with.

"I've come up with loads of new material from when we were on the road, though!"

"Yeah? You were inspired by America then." I asked, gratefully taking the line he had thrown to me. He giggled sheepishly.

"Well, most of it is actually about what I missed about back home."

I burst out laughing.

"You were so inspired by America that you started writing songs about Blighty? I cannot think of a more 'you' thing to do."

"What do you think of me?" He was laughing still, but less so. It sounded like a genuine question.

"Well, I mean..." I sounded awkward, even to myself, "It's just a bit, different."

"Different?" All laughter was gone from his voice, although I could still hear his smile.

"You're putting me on the spot here, Albarn. I refuse to answer any more questions without my lawyer present."

"Fair enough. How about tomorrow night?"

I shook my head at his innate ability to steer the conversation. It was as difficult not to get dragged along by him in conversation as it was in real life.

"Jesus Christ. You're something else, aren't you."

"Thank you very much."

"Not necessarily a compliment."

"Come on, (Y/n)! It'll be a laugh!" He pleaded, drawing out each syllable like a whining child. "We can play each other new song ideas, second opinion and all that?"

"And what will our lawyers do? Just sit and listen?"

He sighed in exasperation, breath rattling down the phone. I caved. I couldn't just keep crushing him down like that.

"Okay, fine."

"Really?! That's great, okay so tomorrow night, at like, six, maybe? Or earlier - or later, I don't mind, whatever suits you. I'll ask Jaime if he'll be in or not, his girlfriend might be a bit annoyed but screw her y'know -"

"Damon."

"Yeah, sorry, I won't actually screw her, not my type. I mean in the context of you coming round here."

He was gabbling on, and on, and the onslaught was far too strong to actually comprehend anything coming out of his mouth. Rambling, never breaking the creative flow. Interviewers were going to hate him.

"Damon. Just come round here."

"What? Oh, right, yeah, that works." He sounded a little embarrassed; brimming with nervous energy. "At first I thought you meant now, I was fully prepared to just run through London at night, then I remembered that it's quite big, and also, I don't know your address. So, yeah, six o'clock?"

I took a minute to process. Reservations began to take root; thoughts of Alex; what Damon wanted out of this. Luckily he didn't allow them the time to grow.

"(Y/n)?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, six. Do you want my address."

I dictated and he copied. It was somewhat relaxing to have the pressure of the conversation lifted.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. See you."

I moved to hang up.

"Oh, and (Y/n)."

I brought the phone back cautiously.

"Yes?"

"I think you're different too."

"See you tomorrow, Damon."

"Bye."

Returning the phone to its cradle, I just stood for a minute and let both conversations wash over me. I didn't even notice I was slipping until I was already halfway down the wall. The floor was sturdy, a reassurance as I tried to process my utter stupidity. I had stuck myself back into the same awkward position as before, and for what? Pity? I had so desperately wanted to make amends to Damon and patch over the rift from our last meeting, but now I wasn't sure if it was worth it, particularly when I was also meeting with Alex. That was sure to come to light at some point. I sighed and levered myself back up to standing. There was no point worrying now; what's done is done. My new focus should be entirely on damage limitation.

The next day rolled around on the train of broken sleep. My mind was empty as I showered, brushed my teeth, and dressed (plainly). I didn't bother to eat. I was too tired to think about anything much. Gathering my instruments and notebooks around me, I began to methodically sift through my working material for what I was to show Damon. The past passed outside my window, barely glancing in. At 5:37 I stretched. I wandered lazily into my room and swapped out my baggy, comfortable shirt for something a little more socially acceptable. A little concealer and eyeliner completed the well-rested illusion. Before the bathroom mirror I took a moment to look myself in the eyes. An odd cocktail of things swam in them: while of course their natural colour; also flashes of unease; any self-assuredness washed away in my brimming tears of stress, which I dabbed away lightly.

Damon knocked at six o'clock precisely. I opened the door in silence, which he returned. We stood, simply watching each other for a moment. His usual buzz of nervous energy was stunned with shock - despite the fact that he could not have expected anything else behind the door.

I pulled it open a little further.

"Hello."

"Hi."

With those two words exchanged he walked slowly and tentatively into my front room.

"Can I just leave my guitar anywhere?"

"Yeah, just bung it down."

He leant it against the sofa and stood awkwardly beside it.

"I missed you, Damon."

He allowed himself a small smile.

"I missed you too."

We fell into laughter and a hug. I buried my face into the warmth of his chest as his hand came up to mess up my hair. If only it were an emotion, I am certain that this is what home would feel like. Arms still around my waist, he leant back and looked down at me.

"Shall we actually play some music now?"

I snuggled back into his chest.

"The jury's still out on that one."

"Don't bring the law analogy back!" He laughed, breaking away and walking over to my sofa. In one smooth motion he sat and pulled his guitar over his shoulders. "Come on! I've been dying for some new Deafaids stuff."

"Alright..." I joined him, seating myself before the piano, "Shall I go first, then?"

He winked.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

I dismissed his lewd comments with an eye roll and turned my attention to the keys.

"So, this one's probably furthest along in terms of lyrical development."

 

 _Pseudo-intellectuals_  
Tend to falter under strobe lights  
True countenance becomes unmasked  
And in neon darkness it will bask __

____

_How 'bout we take off these ones too_  
Does that sound fair enough to you?  
.3 seconds to think it through  
And tell him what to do

_Sometimes  
I get the sense that:_

_This is where I'm meant to be_  
Sitting silent on the dirty street  
15 light years off of where  
We're meant to meet __

____

 

____

"And then I think there's going to be a bridge bit with these chords here." I played out a brief progression, "But I'm yet to compose a bass part. I don't want it to just be chord fills, you know?"

____

Damon cleared his throat.

____

"Let's have a look at that then, shall we?"

____

I sat opposite him on the couch, cross legged, and we bounced ideas off each other for a little while.

____

"(Y/n)?"

____

"Yeah?"

____

"What's it about?"

____

You and Alex.

____

"Oh, nothing much."

____

How I slept with Alex and kissed you on the street outside a shitty club.

____

"I just sort of let the lyrics flow as they came to me."

____

And about how I'm not sure which one I regret.

____

"Oh, right, I do that."

____

If I regret either of them.

____

"Oh, Christ, it's getting late isn't it?"

____

I followed Damon's eyes up to the clock. He was right. The seconds had crept by in six-eight time as we played.

____

"But what about your stuff? I feel so guilty now..."

____

"Ah, no biggie. We can look at it another time." He shook his head dismissively and he slid his guitar back into its case.

____

"Are you free tomorrow?"

____

"What day is that?"

____

"Wednesday."

____

"Sure, I'll see you."

____

He pulled the case into his back over his jacket, and headed towards my door. I went over to see him out, and we stood in the doorway for a minute, as we had done when he initially arrived.

____

"Tomorrow?"

____

I nodded. He smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

____

"Tomorrow." He reiterated; a statement this time, before turning and walking away towards the stairs of my apartment block. I watched him until he disappeared down the first flight, then shut the door and relaxed all my weight into it. Things were going to be okay.

____


	8. Miss America

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> \- ‘Miss America’, Blur  
> \- ‘Blue Jeans’, Blur  
> \- “Bittersweet Bundle of Misery’, Graham Coxon  
> \- ‘I’m Fine’, Blur

"So what are we working on today?"

Damon was back on my couch, hands excitedly poised over his guitar and a look of expectation buzzing on his face. I sat cross-legged on the floor before him.

"It's your turn isn't it?" I posed, "We got so caught up in mine yesterday. Anyway, I want to hear your American inspired songs about England."

He laughed and shook his head at my teasing. His fringe tangled slightly as he did so, but he paid it no mind, simply shoving it back from his face as he flipped open a battered notebook.

"If you insist."

He began to pluck out a small riff, and tested out a couple of chords.

"Sorry, give us a minute."

He ran the structure over a couple of times until he deemed it relatively fluent.

"Right, this one I'm really not sure about, it's a bit weird."

"Second opinion at the ready." I gave a small salute, at which he gave a slight smile, briefly lifting his gaze from the guitar, "What's it called?"

"Miss America."

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Oy oy mate. Who might she be?"

His expression was mildly pained; mostly exasperated.

"No, it's one of the ones about missing England."

"If you say so." I poked. He decided not to rise to it, ignoring me and beginning the song.

It was utterly haunting. Neither particularly major nor minor, melancholy, beautiful - and tired. Damon appeared older as he sang, his face adopting a worn out expression. His eyes were closed but for the occasional glance to check his playing. It was the most mature I'd ever seen him. When the song closed, he stayed there for a minute. It seemed a moment's rest or respite before he sighed and looked back at me.

"So, what did you think?"

I struggled to say what had been running through my mind as he sang. The words weren't translating into speech, so I just sat there with my lips apart and my eyes wide. Damon misinterpreted my silence.

"Too weird. Okay, I'll -"

"No!" I choked out, "No, don't change it. It's absolutely beautiful."

His face split into a huge grin.

"Really?"

"Yes!" My stunned state had given way to unbridled enthusiasm, and my speech was now punctuated by emphatic gesticulation. "I loved it, you just seemed so much more mature, and your style has grown so much since Leisure - are they all like this? And, wow, the lyrics. They're so cryptic, and yet I understood them, like listening to someone talk in a language you barely know."

"God, that's a relief." He slumped back into the sofa, letting the guitar rest face down on his lap. His head flopped over the back so that he was gazing at the ceiling.

"What do you want me on?" I asked, and he lifted his head up slightly.

"Well a bed preferably but I'm really not fussy."

My glare wasn't enough to stifle his cheeky grin. I moved on before caught me laughing.

"Bass, piano, guitar, what?"

"Oh, right. I didn't really get that far."

I raised an eyebrow so as to question this.

"I sort of just wanted you to hear it." He explained. "Have you got an acoustic bass, though?"

I levered myself up off the floor.

"It's my room; one sec."

He nodded and returned to plucking away at his guitar. My acoustic bass was tucked away in the corner of my room, resting on its stand, which was nestled in next to my book shelves. I carefully lifted it out; only looping the strap around my neck once I had got through the door. This time I sat with Damon on the couch. He craned his head around to view the neck of my bass.

"Ibanez. Nice."

"It's my baby!" I joked, clasping it protectively. He laughed.

"Is that why you don't keep it with the rest of your stuff?"

"Not really. I just have it in my room in case I think of something at night when I can't sleep." I shook my head with a grin, "Probably one reason my relationships don't last long."

"Alright, so, I had some alternative riffs for this song that I wanted to try out."

This a clear change in direction. I decided not to push it.

"Hit me with them."

There were three different options. The first was the chord based one he had originally chosen to showcase the song to me, and he was right to - it was certainly the strongest. The second was was more lilting, with a push and pull type rhythm, and the third was a steady strumming that didn't suit the subtlety of the melody. The main one just that perfect balance; a light touch that was still interesting and rhythmic enough to draw you in.

"How about you put the second one over the first?"

Damon seemed puzzled by my suggestion.

"How so?"

I swung the bass off my shoulders and reached for an acoustic guitar, nodding at him.

"Go on. Play the main one."

He began to play it in a loop. Shutting my eyes, I focused entirely on the feel of the song, and, looking at what he had written down, I began to play. After a couple of loops, Damon quickly tapped the chorus on the page. We both played, both sang, but although it was two parts - it was most certainly one song. Then he stopped singing. The abruptness of it did surprise me a little; he just pulled a pencil out of his bag and began to annotate his work, scrawling notes and alterations swimming around the edge of the page.

"It's about you, you know that, right? Missing you, that is."

I wasn't quite sure what my response should be. He'd not even looked up; saying it so nonchalantly as a matter of fact that it hardly merited one.

"Now, let's have a look at that bass line."

And so we passed on.

This seemed to be a reoccurring theme with Damon. The second kiss, the song. They were both so casual, almost conversational, as if that was just the next step, the natural progression. Everything seemed to be the next chord in his song, and one couldn't help but to get swept up in the melody that he wove around you like a delicate thread.

"The one I played yesterday was about you, in part."

That caught his attention. He finally glanced up.

"I suspected that a little bit." Damon bit his lip. "I've spent a lot of time thinking about that night - I was in my head a lot on tour, y'know. I can recognise when someone's talking about it."

"I'm sorry for not telling you yesterday and I wanted to talk abou-"

He waved me off.

"Let's not."

I could feel my heart sink into the pit of my stomach. The fear and shame over his seeming rejection of a reconciliation were like concrete weights.

"Look." It was evident in his voice that he felt a similar way to myself. "We both said some pretty awful things and I think it's for the best that we just leave it, yeah?"

No. I didn't think that was for the best. Suddenly the qualities that had been so magnetic in Damon (his ability to drag you along in conversation, his cocksuredness) just put up a wall between us and made him impossible to counter. Brute force appeared to be the only wall through his blockade, and so I marched on with vigour.

"Do you not think we have to get over this in order to leave it? You may find it easier to just sweep it under the rug - but I can't do that!"

His eyes were pained. They didn't fight back against my anger, just took it in without flinching.

"That's really not it."

It was frustrating and guilt inspiring. I wanted him to hit back; do something that meant it wasn't just me bearing down on him. Damon gently touched my hand.

"I already forgave you. As soon as I thought about it. You did nothing wrong." I tried to protest this but he just shook his head gently and motored on. "I was miserable on tour. That's why I wrote so many songs about here. The only thing that could distract me from how awful life was was thinking about how it could be better elsewhere, and I fixated."

He sighed. He lifted his hand from mine to run it through his hair, as though forgetting it was no longer long enough to do so properly.

"I just haven't worked out how to stop doing that yet."

"What does this have to do with anything?" I felt like a cow saying it. He was opening up to me, and all I could do was shut him down.

"Whenever I thought of you, all I could remember was that night. I was awful to you - no, don't try and say you were in the wrong too, because you just weren't - and it was like a loop. These past two days... It feels like a new path. It's something else for me to fixate on. Something mundane, and wonderfully normal, and so peaceful! I would do this every day if I could."

I took his hand again.

"I honestly wouldn't mind that. But it kind of sounds like another loop." I smiled slightly, "Just a really, really boring one."

He laughed.

"You don't mind? Then I want to stay this way forever."

We did stay that way; not forever. It didn't feel as though we had to do anything as well sat there clumsily holding hands across our instruments, running calloused fingers over each other's palms. It just felt secure.

"Much as I would like to stay this way, I will have to kick you out on Thursday." I smiled, puncturing the atmosphere.

Damon just laughed.

"Well, that's fair enough. Tomorrow, forever. Who cares really?" He squeezed my hand softly, applying just enough pressure to draw my attention to it. "I'm holding onto this for tomorrow though."

"It might make it a bit difficult to play..."

He held still tighter.

"Look, (Y/n), let's be real. Like I came here to play, come on!" Damon had a way of sounding so emphatically earnest that you could help but agree. "I just wanted to get you to hear that song, and all the other ones I've written like it, because I know you'll understand, and now I know you've done the same."

No response came, though my mouth was open and my brain searching. He didn't appear to expect one either, just stared at me, wide eyed, reaching for something. He didn't seem quite sure what.

"What are you doing tomorrow? Can you cancel it?"

I shook my head.

"I'm meeting Alex."

Damon crumpled like a tin soldier in a fire. His voice was pained.

"Please don't."

"I already agreed, Damon."

The pain gave way to frustration.

"Look, (Y/n), I really don't want to have to tell you why, because I love the guy, but please don't meet Alex."

"It's no big deal, we're just-"

"He's a slag, (Y/n)." He raised a hand to silence me, "As one of his best mates, he's a slag."

I don't know if you've ever had a lingering fear confirmed to you, but it's a very odd sensation. For me it was an out of body experience, surreal in the sense that I already knew what was being to told to me, although I wanted nothing less than to believe it.

"Don't get me wrong, he does really like you." Damon's words seemed muffled, "And you weren't just like a lay to him, y'know. But that's all the more reason to stay away. He'll put on a good face around you, and keep you close, but every time he's drunk it's another girl."

"Can you please just stop."

My voice was quiet and clear.

"I'm sorry. I just want to-"

"No. It makes sense." I didn't look at him, "I'm just not sure if I want to slap you or hug you right now."

Damon paused.

"Either way, it would probably be for the best if you took off the bass first."

I looped the strap over my head and placed the bass on the floor. Damon did the same with his guitar. And with that (literal) weight off my shoulders, all my anger dissipated; I fell crying into Damon's arms. We remained there for a while before he carried me to my bed, laying me down and crawling under the covers with me. I spent the day cradled into his chest, breathing in his scent, and wishing the world around us away.


	9. Best Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> \- Best Days, Blur  
> \- Homage, Mild High Club  
> \- Duet, Frankie Cosmos

I awoke alone the next morning. Damon and I had eaten together in comfortable silence before he opted to return to my couch for the night. His presence was certainly reassuring to me, and I think he had recognised that. How he would choose to interpret it was a different matter for another time. Rolling into a sitting position, I lingered on the side of my bed for a moment, taking in the shock of a new day before deciding that a shower would be the best course of action. The living area of my flat was already brightly lit by the streams of daylight flooding through the wide windows, though this seemed no bother to Damon, who was still in repose, shirtless on my tatty sofa. I marvelled at this; there was a sunbeam falling directly across his face, turning his hair into leaping orange flame and glaring off his skin - and yet he was completely unconscious. I had planned to sneak past, as I was afraid of disturbing him, but now saw that this would likely not be an issue.

My face was probably still puffy from tears, so I decided on a cold shower in an attempt to reduce that and clear my head. The jolt from the cold jets certainly did that. I had probably overreacted last night anyway. It was such an emotionally charged situation that the slightest thing would have pushed me over the edge. So I'd slept with a guy who was a bit of a slag - so what? That didn't make me one as well; the last time I'd checked promiscuity wasn't a venereal disease. Damon was the only hitch. I wasn't sure what we were, or even what I wanted us to be. We'd somehow ended up with an incredibly intimate relationship without sex (not for his lack of trying), mainly due to Damon's insistent nature, and I wasn't sure where that played into what was happening with Alex. Alex...

"Oh, shit, Alex."

I realised he had never said what time he was coming round, at least, I assumed he was. He had my address but we'd never actually made plans. I hurriedly wrapped myself in a towel and skidded out of the bathroom.

"Uh, good morning?"

My head flicked around.

"Oh, hi, Damon, yes."

He was sitting up, and had that bemused little grin on, eyes flicking up and down to take in my flustered state.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just realised that Alex could turn up at any time today, so I should probably get dressed." I saw his face and cut him off with a wave, "I know, I know, but it's too late to cancel. Could be a laugh anyway, I've no idea what he's planned."

Damon groaned and stretched back out on my sofa, hips curving upwards with his spine like a cat.

"Thanks, by the way. You didn't have to stay over and I appreciated it."

"I'll admit it's not how I pictured things going when sleeping over at yours." His tone was light, but it said all he needed to as he smiled at me. His humour was a way of showing he cared, no matter how far it went.

"Feel free to use the shower!" I laughed and went to dress.

I picked out a paisley shirt and a 70s style skirt. I would normally just wear trousers when choosing for myself, but there was something about last night that had made me feel so different and confident. I was fully feeling my Pattie Boyd vibes (perhaps slightly less irritating). I even - though I immediately hated myself for thinking it - had my Harrison and Clapton in Damon and Alex. Shaking my head to rid myself of that, I swiped on a quick eyeliner wing to fit the aesthetic, and went to make some tea. Damon had taken my invitation of the shower, so I was left in peace to boil the kettle. Careful to pick out any limescale, I left my tea to brew, and was standing waiting for it to strengthen when I realised the shower had been stopped for a while. I was about to look around when two wet arms wrapped around my waist, and I was pulled into a hug. I gasped in shock and immediately pulled away. A bedraggled Damon was stood laughing at me, thankfully with a towel around his waist. Glancing to the window I could see that I had two defined wet stripes across my front, and my back was probably soaked through.

"Oh, you bastard!" I cried through a grin, spinning to try and catch a glimpse of the back of my shirt.

"Sorry, I just had to!"

"Am I going to have to change now?"

"Nah, you're grand it's just water."

"Doesn't change the fact that you're a twat." I playfully swung at him; he easily swatted my hand away.

He stuck his tongue out, continuing to parry my barrage of little hits.

"Aww. That's so sweet of you."

"Knob."

"I know."

He kissed me. And I returned it.

Our wet hair was tangled in the morning sun, and we were both smiling. He lightly pushed me back so I was against the kitchen counter, and buried his face in my neck, inhaling and gently nipping my collarbone. I just giggled and ruffled his hair, spraying water everywhere. Damon laughed, kissing my jawbone. He pulled away and rested his hands on my hips. Mine were still wound through his hair, which was dark with water. We stood for a moment.

"By the way, what kind of masochist takes cold showers first thing in the morning?"

I flicked his face.

"This kind. Take it or leave it."

He looked around in mock indecision.

"Hmm... I think I'll take it."

"You sure?"

"Very."

He was leaning in again when the door buzzer went. I looked down at myself, patches of water sticking fabric to skin, and then to Damon.

"Oh my god. Go and put some clothes on."

"Why? I think this towel's rather fetching." He glanced to the door, "I'm sure Alex will love seeing me in it."

"For fuck's sake, Albarn!" I cracked up, bundling him into my bedroom and throwing his clothes in after. He grinned widely, pecked me on the lips again, and I slammed the door in his face. The buzzer screamed again and I dashed over to the voice receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hey, (Y/n)? It's Alex."

"Yep, I'll just, uh..."

"If you're not ready I can wait. Could you let me up though?"

Shit.

"Yeah, I'll kick Damon out - we were just songwriting. I wasn't sure what time you'd be here."

"Packed schedule. Glad you could fit me in."

I ignored his snarky comment and buzzed him in. Damon appeared back into the room.

"(Y/n), slight problem." I nodded him on, "I was with Alex yesterday morning before you. Same clothes."

I sprinted back into my room, frantically digging through among my shirts as Damon watched, chuckling at my panic. There was an oversized Sgt. Pepper shirt right at the bottom, which I held up to him for sizing.

"That should be fine."

I was about to turn away when he took hold of my wrist.

"Nothing'll happen with him, right?" His crystalline eyes searched mine. There was worry there, but something more possessive as well, which sent a shiver down my spine. I wordlessly shook my head, and he kissed me once more before slipping on the t-shirt.

The door was knocked.

I pulled away from Damon and went to let in his bandmate, feeling his stare bore into the back of my skull. Alex was leaning on the doorframe. He smiled when he saw me, but there was a sourness in the back of his expression as he glanced over my head to where Damon was packing up his guitar at an annoyingly leisurely speed.

"Mate, get out of my home!" I laughed, and he sighed, sauntering over.

"If I must." He ran his fingers through his still sodden hair as he passed me and Alex, "By the way, did you spill something on your shirt? Looks wet."

I gritted my teeth to avoid a smile.

"Yep. Tea. Now off you go before I literally kick you out."

Damon slipped past Alex, and winked at me over his shoulder as he danced gracefully around the corner. I couldn't help smiling at that, but managed to hide it by dropping my head and gesturing for Alex to come in.

"It's good to see you." He smiled. "Sorry if I interrupted the songwriting process."

"Nah, it's fine, he only just got here - hence the wet hair - I wasn't expecting you so early!"

He looked around sheepishly, lopsided smile dancing over his structured face.

"Figured if I have Thursday with you I might as well use as much time as possible." My face flushed at that, and he back-pedalled slightly, "We haven't seen each other in so long that there's probably lots to catch up on, y'know..."

"I'm just going to grab keys and stuff." I span away. I really hadn't been as prepared as I had thought. Damon's words from the night before were definitely at the forefront of my mind, but once you've been with someone like Alex there's always going to be some degree of tension there, lingering at the back of anything that was said or done. He seemed to always speak volumes about it in the way he stood, the places he looked, in the way he spoke - even if the words were unrelated. I finished putting my stuff into my bag, swung it over my shoulder, and Alex placed his hand on my lower back to guide me out of the flat.

This boy was not about to let me forget.


	10. Far Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> \- Far Out, Blur  
> \- Parachute, Sean Ono Lennon  
> \- Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown), The Beatles

“So, what’s the plan? Or is it still a surprise?” I asked.

“Secret.”

I swatted the back of his head.

“You’re annoying.”

Alex just ducked and smirked, spinning around to stand facing me on the stairs. He was a small way ahead so that our heads would be level.

“You love it.”

“Shut up before I push you down these stairs.”

He did, taking another quick look at the wet streaks on my shirt and turning back down the stairwell. The only sound was the pattering of shoes against linoleum covered steps. Watching the back of his head as we walked, I wondered what was in there beneath the swinging hair. He had to have some thoughts over what Damon had really been doing - perhaps he’d just chosen to ignore them for the time being. Perhaps we’d got away with it. I glanced down at the very-obviously-not-tea-spill lines on my front. Perhaps not.

Alex naturally reached the bottom of the stairs before me, patiently holding the door open. I smiled politely and slipped under his outstretched arm. The street was almost empty; unusual for around midday. I heard the door click shut behind and Alex stepped forwards to join me.

“We’re going left.”

I could feel his hand on my waist, attempting to guide me round the corner and tensed up immediately.

“I know which way left is, thanks.”

His hand fell.

“Alright, fine.”

There was such anger in his voice; it incited guilt rather than fear. Alex had gone to an effort today, I needed to see past my own reservations.

“Sorry, it was meant to be a joke - came out a bit harsh!”

He looked at me and smiled.

“That’s alright. C’mere, truce and a fresh start for today, yeah?”

He wrapped me in a brief hug, burying my face in his jumper. It was warm against the cold air of a day that wasn’t quite spring, and as he pulled away one of his long arms was still looped around my shoulders. It didn’t feel right to shove him away again, so I just went along with it. Idle chit-chat was given percussion by our footsteps, and soon we reached Putney Bridge Station. I gravitated towards the ticket booth, only to have Alex poke me.

“Oi. Already got the tickets.”

“Can you really afford that at the moment?” I asked, but my concerned protest was dismissed.

“I know people say Thatcher’s screwed the railways, but we can’t have you knowing where we’re headed now, can we?” He laughed, “Anyway, it’s a couple of quid, I don’t see what the fuss is.”

I begrudgingly took the first ticket he handed to me, and followed him through the station barrier. We didn’t have to wait long for the next tube to come rattling in, so sat in silence, unbothered by the requirement of conversation. In the couple of free minutes on the platform, I studied my ticket. To: Cannon Street. I figured that was merely a transition stop, as Alex had seemed to have a small stack of cards when he’d handed it to me. So deep in thought was I that I hardly noticed the tube lurching in, and the gust of air almost knocked the ticket clean out of my hands. I clasped it more firmly and boarded. Alex hopped in after me, head dropping as he passed through the low doors.

“You look like Lurch from the Addams Family, mate!”

He just rolled his eyes at me.

“Shut up, Morticia.”

The District Line was busier than the streets had been, so we stood in silence for a few stops until the crowd had thinned. Alex had been stooped uncomfortably so far; I gestured that we should try and find a couple of seats. After walking down the carriage a way, we found a fairly empty set of seats so that, once sat, Alex could extend his legs out fully. He groaned with relief, running his hands through his hair. The sound was eerily familiar. I blushed. He noticed.

“Something the matter?” He asked, eyebrows raised. That bastard. He knew he answer, definitely, but he wanted to make me squirm. This was the same as what he’d tried to pull backstage at The Camden Falcon before Dave and Graham had shut him down. The trouble was that he was so magnetic, and once he knew you wanted him, he would not let it drop for anything - particularly if he wanted you too. Alex was either ridiculously in love with himself or cripplingly insecure, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know which.

“(Y/n)?” Fuck off with that smirk. I nodded briefly.

“Yeah, sorry, just I feel a bit awkward when we haven’t seen each other for so long.”

He sighed.

“Yeah, I know the feeling. There’s so much to catch up on that it’s difficult to know where to begin.” He glanced sideways at me. “Well, for a start, anyone new in your life?”

“Not really.” Damon wasn’t new.

“That’s good.”

The tube pulled out from yet another stop; I saw the signs for Embankment gather speed and drift away. The windows rattled with the guest of air that shot into the carriage and whipped my hair about my face. Alex reached over to move a strand out of my face, but I hurriedly ran my hands through it to smooth it down.

“I haven’t got anyone new either, by the way.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you being so standoffish to me?”

I looked at Alex expecting petulant annoyance, but was instead met with genuine confusion.

“Seriously, I don’t get it! It was the same at The Falcon!”

I gave in. I was in his magnetic field now, there was no point fighting.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I just...” I shook my head, trying to gather my words, “I guess I got cold feet ever since the BRITs party. How you acted the next morning really freaked me out, if I’m being honest.”

“I thought we had a nice time that morning. We chatted about astronomy, and music, and-“

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, come off it (Y/n)! With the shirt thing?” He exclaimed, “That was a laugh! I apologised at the time anyway.”

“It wasn’t a laugh for me. But no, not that. I’m actually referring to the way you were so nonchalant about everything. I figured you did that kind of thing all the time, and I didn’t want to get drawn into it.” And yet here I am.

There was silence for a moment.

“You’re special, (Y/n), and what I’m doing today, this is not the kind of thing I do all the time - not just because I’m broke.”

I laughed and tried to ignore the fact that he’d dodged answering properly. The tube pulled into Cannon Street. We stood and disembarked unspeaking. After passing through the tube barrier, Alex handed me the next ticket. To: Maze Hill. It was an overground train this time, and we sat waiting for a little longer than last time. In the silence there was tension that I wasn’t quite sure how to dispel.

“You know, you still haven’t given back my shirt.”

I burst out laughing. Turns out I didn’t have to be sure.

“Yeah, sorry about that! It’s a great shirt though.”

“You have excellent taste, but I would quite like it back!”

And with that we launched into conversation, which flowed along the train tracks to Maze Hill. We left the station, and Alex turned to face me.

“I do have a confession to make.”

“Yeah?” My heart was threatening to burst out of my ribcage with the nerves.

“There is a bit of a walk from here.”

I looked down at my skirt.

“Are you serious, mate.”

He collapsed into giggles.

“You look great but maybe not the most practical decision! I can give you a piggyback if need be.”

Determined to be independent, I strode off at a brisk pace, which he easily matched with his long stride. It took me a few minutes to realise that I was being led into Greenwich Park. I cocked my head at Alex in confusion, but he just smiled and pointed me down a small passageway, where we ducked through a brick archway. Then in front of me was the Royal Observatory.

“We talked about astronomy before. Thought we could have a look around.”

I turned to him, wide eyed.

“Oh my god, really?”

He grinned sheepishly; nodding me on. The building was a beautiful, eclectic mix of ornate architecture and smooth, scientific surfaces. Room upon room of astrophotography and activities seemed to lay themselves out, and by the time we left, the sun had already retired. Soon, we would not need an observatory to see the stars. Alex took my hand.

“One last stop.”

We boarded a bus, and got off at a stop which I knew all too well.

“A bit forward isn’t it? Taking me back to yours?”

“Just hang on.”

Walking into his flat, Alex directed me straight through, not pausing for anything, and opened the doors onto a tiny balcony area. The sky was truly dark now, but I could see a couple of distinct shapes outside.

“What is that?”

“Just sit down here.”

Large hands rested on my shoulders and guided me down to where there was what felt like a cushion. Alex sat beside me.

“Now, look through here.”

I was wary, but did so, ducking my head to peer through the tube that he was pointing to.

“Where did you get this?” I gasped.

“My first Blur payment went to this. The light pollution messes around with it a bit, but I still love it.”

Stars filled my eye. Through the lens of the telescope you could clearly make out the different colours that danced within them, and I shifted the mount around, searching for distant objects.

“Here.” Alex bent down right next to me, one arm around my back, “There’s Cassiopeia - the ‘w’ shape, and over there, that cluster of blue ones is the Pleiades.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Alex placed his hand on the side of my face, drawing me closer. His lips brushed my jaw, and I shuddered.

“I can’t do this.”

He continued to shower my neck with attention.

“Why not?” He shifted so that his torso crossed mine further, pressing me towards the ground slightly, “What’s stopping you right now?”

His hand slid upwards from my face into my hair; the other up my thigh beneath my skirt; one leg pressing me more into a lying position. He began to trail his kisses upwards from my neck, across my cheek, towards my mouth.

“It’s not a big deal, (Y/n).”

“Exactly.” I slid out from underneath him, “Because it’s not a big deal.”

Ignoring his protests, I span on my heel, and left.


	11. Into Another (SMUT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter (I am aware the format for this is always different I’m sorry I am so tired):
> 
> \- ‘Into Another’, Blur  
> \- ‘Do You Remember The First Time’, Pulp  
> \- ‘The Slider’, T. Rex

I didn’t cry.

I wanted to make it very clear; since that night with Damon, I never shed a single tear over Steven Alexander James. My tube ride home was instead filled with the sound of raging silence, the atmosphere of my anger and resolve proving enough to fill the small space of the interior and crush the other late night ramblers up against the sides and down into their chairs to get further away from whatever new evil this was. Tilting my head to one side, I studied my face in the window opposite. The image distorted as I moved, and I shifted it about, trying to magnify exactly what it was Damon and Alex saw there that I simply couldn’t. Maybe they each saw something different. Perhaps they were stood at opposite ends of the tube carriage.

Darkness flashing by burst into the glow of station lights, and I could see my station name illuminated in the dirty yellow. The clicking of my shoes echoed deafeningly throughout the station, so the relief of stepping out into the street was immense. I looked up at the stars.

“Look, that there is Cassiopeia. I screwed her, and Andromeda, and then all her mates.”

Laughing dryly to myself in the middle of the street was the release I needed, no matter how mad I looked. There was new life in my step as I set off towards home, slipping gracefully through the London carpet of chewing gum and dog shit.

My flat still bore the evidence of the morning: guitars lying without order on the floor; a long-forgotten mug of tea on the kitchen counter. I slumped down on my messy sofa that still smelled of him. Signs of Damon were everywhere. It was so comforting. My bedroom was much the same, neither of us had bothered to clear up, so the covers were strewn across the lower end of the bed, his towel was slung over my empty bass stand, and my shirts coated the floor after Damon‘s rapid change. I began to pick them up when I found one that I didn’t remember at first... Damon had left it. Removing my day clothes with much relief, I slipped the shirt on in place of pyjamas, and padded into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Stood before the mirror, surrounded by the smell that still lingered on my bed and sofa, I knew what I wanted to do. I spat out my toothpaste and walked over to my phone.

The number only rang a couple of times.

“Hello?”

“Hi. That was quick.”

“I was waiting for you to get back from your day out. Turned into more of a night though.”

There was a pause.

“It’s only 10 o’clock, Damon.”

More silence, but I wasn’t going to break it this time. He sighed.

“You know what I want to ask, don’t you?”

“I think I do. But I’d also like to think you have a little more faith in me.”

“So you didn’t..?”

“No.”

“Good.”

That was the most direct I’d heard Damon, his voice almost too deep and soft for the phone to register. I felt my breath catch in my throat, as if scared that it would kill the moment if it was released.

“You left my place in a right state earlier.” I poked, trying to alleviate some of the tension.

“Sorry about that!” He laughed, “You didn’t give me much of a choice though.”

“How on earth did I do that?” I scoffed, leaning back against the wall and staring at the ceiling.

“Distracted me.”

“Tell that to the wasted cup of tea in my kitchen, you twat.”

He giggled, and I could practically see him running his free hand through his hair.

“I could always come round and help you clean up.” He said pointedly, “As you said, it is only 10 o’clock...”

I grinned down at my feet.

“Yeah, I think that would be a great help. I’m all ready for bed though, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Think I’m about ready for bed too.” He cut me off before I had time to think about that one. “See you in a bit.”

I hung up the phone and went to put on some pyjama shorts. It proceeded to be a long, long, half-hour. I just didn’t know what to do with myself until the knock on the door, which I leapt up to answer. Damon was leant against the frame outside.

“Alright?”

“Alright. Come on in.”

He sauntered in, but I could see on closer inspection that his hands and feet betrayed his nervous jitters.

“So where’s this fabled mess, then?”

I gestured vaguely.

“This stuff, I guess. I already cleared up most of the shirt mountain in my room.”

He smirked, and nodded at my chest.

“So I can see.”

I swore at myself internally; I’d totally forgotten I was wearing his shirt.

“You can’t talk, mate. That Sgt. Pepper top looks fairly familiar to me.”

“Maybe we should swap back right now then.”

“Maybe we should.”

Damon slowly slipped him arm inside the shirt, then pulled it over his head, looking at me expectantly. Cautiously, I did the same, and we stood there, silent and bare-chested, until he dropped the shirt and kissed me. Without breaking away, he gently slipped his own shirt out of my hands and discarded it on the floor, guiding me instead to hold onto his waist. When he finally stopped, he was breathing heavily, and rested his forehead on mine, smiling. This felt so right.

“Can we go to my room?”

“Lead the way.”

I took his hand and walked him over to the door.

“Can you not remember from this morning? Wow, you’re more of an idiot than I thought.”

“And yet you’re currently leading me to your bed. Where’s the courage in your convictions?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

“Can’t wait.” He laughed, and we collapsed onto my unmade bed, rolling around and fighting for the upper hand. And the room was filled with laughter. When Damon finally got a secure spot on top, he began to slide down my shorts, only to have them stick halfway down my thighs. We crumpled into each other in hysterics.

“So fucking smooth, Dam-o.”

“Shut up.” He chuckled into my shoulder, and I felt something dig into my collarbone.

“Did you just bite me?!”

“Might have done. Bit more awkward than planned. Moving swiftly onwards.” He flushed and looked down in embarrassment, before tugging my shorts down the rest of the way. I sat up to kiss him and began to fumble with his belt, clumsily undoing the buckle and loosening his fly. He pulled away to take off his jeans and boxers, leaving us both undressed. He took a minute to just look at me.

“You know I was thinking about this all day?”

I stuck my tongue out and punched him gently on the shoulder. “Well, I was thinking about this all last night. You were literally in my bed and you decided to sleep on the sofa!”

“And I’ve been thinking about this is since your first album came out!”

Our verbal sparring match soon descended back into our playful fight for the top. I straddled Damon and pinned down his hands triumphantly. Looking down at him I couldn’t see laughter in his eyes anymore. They weren’t even blinking, as if he didn’t want to miss anything. His chest was heaving, and there was a pressure against my thigh. I kissed him. He didn’t hesitate to crane his neck upwards and reciprocate. After a minute my hands absent-mindedly slipped away from his, tracing down his chest. I started to pepper kisses down his torso, inching myself further down, but his he stroked a finger under my chin to bring my eyes level to his.

“You don’t have to do that.”

I cocked my head, laying it on his stomach.

“You sure?”

“Honestly,” he threw his head back and laughed sheepishly, “I don’t think I’d fucking last long enough at this rate.”

“Wow, you really know how to sell yourself don’t you?” I burst out in teasing laughter, and he ran his hand through my hair, pulling it ever so slightly in his curled fingers.

“I haven’t been with anyone since America. I slept with one bird but couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Hence the song?”

“Hence the song.”

I slid away from him and reached under my bed for protection, before coming back up to put it on him. I hadn’t actually looked until then.

“Oh god.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I’ll bet. I’ll get a different size.”

“This entire thing has gone so smoothly, hasn’t it?” He laughed, as I tore open the foil wrapper. I rolled my eyes.

“Fucking plain sailing, mate.”

Damon hissed inwards as I pulled the condom over him, then pulled me up by my elbow for a small kiss. He looked me dead in the eyes.

“Just relax, yeah.”

“Okay.”

I lowered myself, and he groaned, holding my hips and repositioning. I just bit my lip, trying to adjust, taking a minute before moving. His hands roamed with his eyes, taking me in.

“This is happening.” I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, so I just nodded.

“I’m sorry it took so long.” My fists clenched on his chest, and I could feel his heart pounding faster and faster, “Oh my god I’m so sorry, Damon.”

“Fuck!” At my mention of his name, his grip tightened, and his eyes finally scrunched closed. “Holy fuck, (y/n)!”

I pressed my chest into his and leant down to his ear.

“Damon.”

His breath caught in his throat, low and guttural.

“Damon Albarn.”

He couldn’t even speak, just arched his spine upwards one last time before collapsing into the mattress. I swung myself away and lay beside him for a second before taking the condom and flushing it in my bathroom. On my way back I picked up Damon’s shirt and put it back on. When I returned he still hadn’t moved. I lay beside him and buried my face in his shoulder. He looked across at me.

“Did you..?” His voice trailed off. I shook my head. “I’m sorry.“

“Don’t worry about it.” I pecked him on the cheek, and he rolled over to envelop me in a hug.

“Next time, I promise, yeah?”

“Bold of you to assume there’s a next time, Albarn.” I prodded him, and his arms tightened around me. I could feel him about to respond when the phone rang. I looked up and he turned onto his back, nodding at me to get it. Standing up, I could feel his hand trace the inside of my thigh, and I shivered as I padded out to the phone.

“Hello, this is (Y/n)?”

“(Y/n), I just want to talk, right?” The voice was drawn out, exasperated, and raspy over the phone line, but I knew who it was.

“Oh, Alex, do fuck off! You can’t hold a conversation without trying to sleep with everyone involved.” I saw Damon approach, and he hugged me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. He was grinning widely.

“Look, I’m going to stop sleeping around. I barely even do it anyway, and you weren’t just a shag. You’re not like other girls!”

I began to play with Damon’s hair.

“Actually, Alex, I’m exactly like other girls, and they are exactly like me. The fact that you would consider any of them ‘just a shag’ merely serves to prove to me that you’re a misogynist little shit who doesn’t deserve the time of day, which, by the way, is about quarter past eleven, so I’m going to bed. Sweet dreams, you closeted Tory bastard.”

I slammed the phone back into the receiver, and turned to Damon.

“Want to go again?”


	12. I Broadcast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:
> 
> \- ‘I Broadcast’, Blur  
> \- ‘I’d Have You Anytime’, George Harrison  
> \- ‘Beachcoma’, Blur

I was woken by Damon’s hand stroking my hair. He stopped when felt me shift against him.

 

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t mind.” I smiled at him. We were still naked, legs tangled together. “That’s two nights in a row you’ve had here, I should start charging you rent.”

 

He just chuckled and kissed me on the cheek. We lay looking at each other for a moment in the low, golden light. His hair was a mess, and the smile line that ran down his cheek was shaded by stubble. I loved the way he looked at me; large eyes drinking me in. He sighed contentedly.

 

“You make me want to write songs about you.”

 

“More than you have already?” I poked, and he laughed.

 

“We’re talking two part album.”

 

“Concept album with a full Lord of the Rings style plot?

 

“If you want!” He laughed, and I prodded him in the side.

 

“Oh, I really do.” I started playfully shoving him off the edge of the bed, ignoring giggled protests. “Go get writing. And I demand a third part!”

 

He wriggled frantically, clinging to his ever decreasing side of the mattress.

 

“Fucking stop!” He cried, voice practically hysterics at this stage, “I’ll fall off!”

 

“Yes, that is the plan.” There was no mercy. At last, I gave him the decisive final kick, and lay back to watch my glorious handiwork unfold - only to feel the bedsheets slip underneath me, giving way to floor. Damon was gripping my ankle triumphantly. I kissed him, resigned, and stood. Picking out a random shirt, I pulled it on over my shorts from the night before, choosing to ignore Damon’s complaints from the floor. He was still lying there, naked and beautiful. I watched him and considered for a moment. Expression, movement, colour and shade - everything seemed to serve no purpose but to frame his eyes, which (though currently tired and half-lidded) swam with life. I smiled for no particular reason.

 

“Shall we actually do some writing together today?” I asked, “We can listen to records and just see what happens. I need to be in the studio starting next week.”

 

He nodded and I fetched him a shirt.

 

We didn’t bother to shower. We both smelled of sex and cigarettes, and sat together in the still messy living room quite contentedly. I had put on George Harrison’s ‘All Things Must Pass’, and now sat cross-legged with my back to Damon, feeling both his arms and legs wrap around me. The feeling was of safety, sheltered from all that may come. Damon nestled his head into my shoulder.

 

“Can you sing along to this?”

 

It seemed odd for one of us to talk. The need for speech wasn’t really there; both of us listening so intently to the music. I nodded.

 

_“Let me in here._

_I know I’ve been here._

_Let me into your heart._

_Let me know you._

_Let me show you._

_Let me roll it to you._

_All I have is yours._

_All you see is mine._

_And I’m glad to hold you in my arms,_

_I’d have you any time.”_

Damon sighed against my skin.

 

“Do you know what you want to write about?” I asked him.

 

He took a moment to think.

 

“If I’m being honest, life is really frustrating at the moment. It’s like I’m seeing the shit parts of society all at once.” He confessed, shaking his head, “Those things were all just amplified in America. I was think about giving them all a song each.”

 

“I like that idea. Could be quite a long album though.”

 

He laughed and stretched his hand out to punctuate his words.

 

“Blur Vs. America.”

 

“Your agent is going to shit themselves over that name!”

 

Damon smirked. I loved the way some of his teeth stuck out in his smile.

 

“That was the idea. And you’re right, it’s going to take fucking ages. Might not be out til next year. I’m also going to have one happy song, one good thing, right in the middle. It’ll make it stand out more.”

 

“What’s the good thing?”

 

“You’ll see. I actually wrote the song last night. It’s about how having one good thing in your life just makes all the shit and monotony seem worth it, you know?”

 

I nodded, and turned around to peck him on the cheek.

 

“I know.”

 

***

 

Three months later I was sat on a sofa without him. George Harrison and soft, warm arms were gone; now were strangers and strip lights, and someone was packing powder on me, telling me not to smile.

 

“You’ll crease your base, come on, work with me.”

 

The hands were gently pushed away from me.

 

“Leave it. We’re behind schedule anyway. Gotta start filming.”

 

André and Edie were beside me, both squinting into the bright light of the studio. Edie caught my eye and smiled reassuringly. It really did little to calm me. It had been a year since our last LP release, and though our singles had been getting good reviews, I was yet to actually sit and talk about it for any significant length of time. At least it wasn’t live.

 

“Okay guys, when you’re ready.”

 

The presenter nodded and turned to us, a grin snapping onto his face.

 

“So, The Deafaids! Welcome back to MTV, guys!”

 

I nodded and smiled weakly.

 

“Thank you for having us,” Fuck. I couldn’t remember his name. Moving on swiftly, “It’s been a while.”

 

Unnamed Male Presenter chuckled, despite there being no joke.

 

“It sure has! I’ve been literally dying for more of your stuff to come out.”

 

I could feel André bristle beside me.

 

“Literally dying?”

 

“Uh-huh!” The presenter appeared to miss his meaning. “And can I just say, this new album is a-ma-zing! (Y/n) what was your main inspiration for this album?”

 

“Well, it’s mainly autobiographical. I like to take specific events and moments from my own life, and see where they fit into wider society.”

 

The presenter gave me a blank stare.

 

“Uh-huh! What about love songs?!”

 

“What about them?” My smile was stretched now. No wonder I couldn’t remember their name from before.

 

“Here are some lyrics from one of your new songs one the album:

 

_Autumn brings us safety_

_We never leave our treehouse_

_A special kind of greed_

_Because we’re all each other need_

Now!” He raises his eyebrows, “If that isn’t a love song, I don’t know what is!”

 

I doubt he does.

 

“It is, kind of. It’s more about feeling safe with someone, and being able to hide from everyone else with them.”

 

“I’m sure everyone’s wondering who the lucky person is!” He leans in closer. “I did notice, (Y/n), that Damon Albarn has a general writing credit on the album...”

 

He was fishing and I didn’t want to give him anything. Damon and I had been hiding together for months, bar the odd gig or press appearance. We were each other’s safe place, away from other friends and the paparazzi - not even our bandmates knew the extent of our relationship yet.

 

“So do these guys. I write the bare bones of the song, but I could do nothing more without them.” I nodded at Edie and André, “Damon and I are friends with similar ideas. I expect I’ll also have a writing credit on Blur’s next album.”

 

And so the interview moved on. I wondered how much more of this I would be forced to endure throughout our press tour. On top of that, every eye would be on Damon and I as the news and speculation spread and burned higher. Perhaps it was stupid to give him a writing credit, but it would have felt wrong not to, when he contributed so much to the music (and the concepts behind it). 

 

Our self-imposed hermitage also meant that I hadn’t seen Alex for the entire time, although not for his lack of trying. His visits, calls, even letters had decreased in frequency, but they were still coming. I had spoken to him over the phone quite a lot - in the broadest sense of the word. In actuality I stayed practically silent and listened to him talk; one of my few connections to the outside world. It was relaxing, and I think he knew, as he didn’t stay apologising and whining for long. He always found something interesting to tell me about, like:

 

“I’m guessing you saw that space shuttle launch, Atlantis 11? It was beautiful. I wish we could have watched it together, you’re the only other space nerd I know.”

 

Or

 

“Silence of the Lambs had a double best actor/actress win at the Oscars! We should watch it together sometime.”

 

I just listened to him talk until he was done. He always signed off in the same way.

 

“That’s just about all the news I can think of. See you soon, (Y/n).”

 

And then I would speak;

 

“See you soon, Alex.”


End file.
